


How to do Real Evil by Crowley

by obaewankenope (rexthranduil)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Crowley is a mess, Emotions, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, aziraphale loves him anyway, but also crowley love stop being so fucking dumb asssdfsfigj, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 18:22:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19796479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexthranduil/pseuds/obaewankenope
Summary: “Listen, angel, I’ve figured it out!” Crowley says and Aziraphale looks at him with a mild ‘yes dear, that’s great dear’ expression that is not at all out of place on a married spouse dealing with their eccentric partner. It has been a common expression worn by the pair of them over the past six thousand years of their acquaintance, for obvious reasons.“Figured what out?”“How to be better at being evil!” Crowley grins widely at Aziraphale who, by this point, is now mildly intrigued and a little bit horrified at Crowley’s thought process. Whatever that process happens to be.





	How to do Real Evil by Crowley

**Author's Note:**

> So for once I've written from Aziraphale's perspective for one of these little snippets!! Colour me surprised! Also, I legit love every prompt I get on tumblr at this point lmao.
> 
> [Prompt](https://obaewankenope.tumblr.com/post/186266962522/uhm-have-you-considered-crowley-keeps-shooting): _❝ Uhm. Have you considered: Crowley keeps shooting himself in the foot with his evil deeds bc he's bad at being evil and the only evil deeds he can come up with are things he can brainstorm a la: '... so what would ruin MY day' ❞_

“Listen, angel, I’ve figured it out!” Crowley says and Aziraphale looks at him with a mild ‘yes dear, that’s great dear’ expression that is not at all out of place on a married spouse dealing with their eccentric partner. I ****t has been a common expression worn by the pair of them over the past six thousand years of their acquaintance, for obvious reasons.

“Figured what out?”

“How to be better at being evil!” Crowley grins widely at Aziraphale who, by this point, is now mildly intrigued and a little bit horrified at Crowley’s thought process. Whatever that process happens to be. 

“I’m oddly curious about this now but also—I do feel a little apprehensive about your… solution, whatever that may be,” Aziraphale says and Crowley gives him a haughty look not unlike a bird that’s just been dunked in a bath because it’s covered in dirt and liked being covered in dirt but is not allowed to be covered in dirt.

“It’s a brilliant solution and you’ll find it’s going to work brilliantly!”

Aziraphale hums. “But my dear Crowley,” he says, “evil always contains the seed of its own destruction.”

Crowley shakes his head, grinning. “Not this time angel,” he replies, tongue flicking out without any real awareness of the action. It captures Aziraphale’s attention—as it always does. “This time there’s no self-destructing happening!”

Aziraphale drops the matter after that but—if he is entirely honest—he is more concerned than ever because Crowley refuses to tell him what the solution is and thus the angel is left to wonder what sort of catastrophe is about to occur because of the demon’s antics. He is, also, a little bit excited to see what the wiley serpent has thought up.

* * *

Crowley doesn’t show up at the bookshop for a week. Aziraphale tries not to panic about it since—well—they had thwarted the apocalypse, both got downgraded to even lesser underlings than they’d been beforehand and Crowley was sometimes forced to go abroad unexpectedly to perform this or that temptation. It’s fine. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

When one week turns into two, Aziraphale decides to panic. It’s a fruitless sort of panic, more dithering than actually productive, but it’s panic nonetheless and he engages in the very human habit of flapping his hands while pacing in his bookshop and conjuring up all sorts of reasons for why Crowley hasn’t spoken to him.

After week three, Aziraphale goes to the flat and miracles his way inside.

There he finds Crowley, curled up on his bed, asleep. As a bloody snake!

“Crowley!" 

The snake rolls and flops away from Aziraphale, eyes opening comically wide as it lets out a string of hissed curses and promptly falls off the bed as part of its own body serves as a weight for gravity to exert itself upon.

"Crowley what are you playing at?” Aziraphale near shouts, hands waving wildly about him in an expression of honest frustration that is plagued with hurt. “You decide to have a nap and don’t think to tell me! After everything that’s happened? The apocalypse! Heaven! Hell! I know you act impulsively at times, Crowley, but this was thoughtlessly cruel of you!”

Crowley’s head appears over the side of the bed he’s just fallen off, hair askew and eyes wide still. In his human form, Aziraphale notices that the demon looks—for want of a better word—a mess. 

“‘Was the point,” the demon says awkwardly. Crowley clambours to his feet, wobbling a little on one leg as though he’s not quite used to having them anymore. Aziraphale wonders, quite suddenly, if the demon has been a snake for the past three weeks. It seems quite likely. 

“It was the point,” the angel repeats. “The point of not even having the courtesy to leave me a note or call the shop was to be cruel?” Crowley—not looking at Aziraphale—nods. “Why?”

The demon shifts on his feet, hands shoved in pockets too small for such long hands and Aziraphale watches the thumbs work at the material of the jeans a little worriedly. It seems, shockingly, that Crowley is very uncomfortable with this confrontation.

That is unfortunate for Crowley but Aziraphale will have answers.

“Figured that since I always fuck myself over when doing evil, made sense to do something that my life worse at the same time,” the demon mutters, still avoiding Aziraphale’s gaze.

The angel lets out a huff of frustration. “And how did it make your life worse, exactly?” he asks in as measured a tone as he can manage. It’s not very measured but at least he’s trying. “Sleeping for three weeks and comfortable in the knowledge that you at least know where I am doesn’t quite sound as bad as having no idea where the only person you’re friends with is for three weeks, does it now?”

So measured is not within his range of emotional control right now; Crowley always does cause Aziraphale issues with his control. For a variety of reasons. Feeling honestly hurt is a relatively new reason and—if he’s quite honest—not one Aziraphale cares for.

“Sorry angel,” Crowley says, glancing up at Aziraphale and wincing before looking away again. “Won’t happen again.”

Aziraphale must have quite the Unhappy Expression on his usually friendly features for the demon to be acting so contrite.

“You didn’t answer my question, Crowley,” Aziraphale says and he’s determined now to know Crowley’s answer. “How did three weeks of not seeing me make your life worse?”

If Aziraphale was ever asked about it, the angel would forever deny that he had Multiple Reasons for wanting to know the answer to this particular question. He simply wished to understand Crowley’s thinking. That’s all.

Crowley looks at him again but this time the demon maintains eye contact.

“I keep thinking the bookshop is still burning and that you’re- that you-,” the demon says before his voice breaks and he closes his eyes. “I thought that I’d figured out how to do Real Evil by not seeing you, denying myself you, and I did. I did. It’s- angel- I’d rather be doused in holy water.”

“Then why did you not stop your self-flagellation and simply return to the bookshop?” Aziraphale asks, heart pounding at the admission and aching at the pain on Crowley’s face. 

“I couldn’t,” Crowley says, shaking his head. “Couldn’t- I just couldn’t- I didn’t- it hurt too much to think,” he finally gets out, looking down and away, serpentine eyes brighter with tears. “I wanted to just forget the hurt and so I—” he waves a hand at the bed “—slept.”

“Oh, oh you absolute fool darling,” Aziraphale says then and he steps forward. Crowley looks at him in surprise because Aziraphale’s voice is no longer firm and full of hurt anger, now it’s warm and gentle and—yes, Crowley, it is—loving. “Don’t do that again, please?”

Crowley shakes his head. “Never,” he croaks and Aziraphale pulls the demon into an embrace that Crowley doesn’t fight. If anything, the demon sinks into Aziraphale’s touch, head dropping to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder as Crowley’s arms snake around his chest and keep him close. “Promise.”

“Well then,” Aziraphale says softly. “That’s quite all right then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos sustain me but also so does Crowley being a dumbass who I relate too far too well


End file.
